We Are Whole
by TiTivillus
Summary: Sam lost his brother, got shot in the leg, abducted from his home, patched up by a vet and tortured by a secret society all in the same night. Dean is taking care of him in the aftermath. Episode Tag to 12x02 "Mamma Mia" Hurt/Comfort. BigBrother!Dean. Hurt!Sam.


**Title:** We Are Whole

 **Summary:** Sam lost his brother, got shot in the leg, abducted from his home, patched up by a vet and tortured, all in the same night. But they said that the sun shines brightest on those who only knew darkness. Episode Tag to 12x02 "Mamma Mia"

 **Warnings:** Mentions of torture, past injuries and rape/sexual abuse. Spoilers up to season 12x02. Swearing.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own the show or any of its characters.

* * *

Over the years, Sam had numbed down somewhat in the emotional department.

A lifetime ago, he'd worn his heart on his sleeve and showed his feelings openly, addressing things that rubbed him the wrong way rather than swallowing down his emotions, but somewhere along the way he had become more guarded, more hesitant to put his heart out there, potentially exposing it to further harm.

He no longer wanted to talk about every little thing that happened in their lives because sometimes the recluse of their own minds, of thinking things through in companionable silence, was easier than formulating words, anyway.

More times than not, a fleeting glance towards Dean was all it took for Sam to understand what his brother was thinking.

Other times, a simple brush of shoulders or a weary smile offered alongside a capped cold one was all it took for them to communicate.

Dean wasn't a big talker.

And since Sam didn't have anybody else to talk to, he had adjusted and made his peace with the quiet.

But he had numbed down in other ways too.

Being a hunter, seeing what they saw on a regular basis- doing what they did- it toughened you up in a lot of ways.

Sam had a different understanding of physical pain.

Once you've spent a small eternity locked in the cage with Lucifer himself, there really wasn't much someone could do to you that would register on your scale of agony.

He didn't cry as easily as he used to, either.

Sometimes Sam thought he had dried up inside because of all the crying he had done throughout the course of his young life. He often imagined how many buckets he could fill with the tears he had shed over all of Dean's deaths, alone. Or how many football stadiums.

He wasn't jumpy. He didn't get scared easily, but that one kind of was a given.

He also didn't believe in the 'impossible' or write things off as finished business when experience had taught him that there was always a way to weasel your way out of a deal, or out of Purgatory or Hell or death- you name it.

Usually, when someone he loved died, Sam got angry and determined instead of sad or devastated. Because surely there was a way to bring them back again. All Sam had to do was strike another deal with Crowley or Tessa or the freaking Devil himself and trade places with whoever he had lost.

Only that this time, when Dean had taken on that soul-bomb crafted by Rowena, when he had handed Sam the keys to his most prized possession without meeting his gaze because he was still the big brother and he couldn't allow himself to cry in front of the kid he'd raised- _this time_ , Sam had actually thought he had lost Dean for good.

He had sat in that damn British Men of Letters basement, soaked to the bone, hallucinating, with his burnt foot feeling like it was on fire and his teeth chattering and his heart broken and he had thought _'This is it. Nobody's coming for me. Everybody I've ever loved is dead.'_

The worst thing hadn't been the pain or the thirst or the humiliation.

No, it had been the absolute certainty that Dean was gone.

Gone somewhere where Sam couldn't follow.

Gone _forever._

And maybe in that moment, sitting on that staircase after that British Woman of Letters had outwitted him, he had realized for the first time, how numb he'd _really_ become over the years- how immune to the grief and the loss and the horrors of their everyday lives, that he hadn't taken that shard of glass earlier and slit his throat for real.

His brother was gone and Sam hadn't even had the goddamn chance to grieve him- wasn't even left with a body to give Dean a proper hunter's funeral or to walk into Dean's room one last time and allow himself to break down over a stretch of vacant memory foam and a few crinkled childhood photographs.

So when Dean showed up the next day, bloody and grumpy and wielding his usual provocative, 'I-laugh-in-the-face-of-death'-attitude, Sam was so overwhelmed by his reappearance that he couldn't quite process it.

It was hard to be ecstatic that someone had been resurrected when you hadn't even gotten around to fully come to terms with the fact that said person was _dead._

And Sam hadn't actually witnessed Dean's death- he hadn't been there when it happened. He had only seen the sunrise afterward, assuming it was because his brother had once again sacrificed himself to save the world.

But the grief and utter devastation that should have accompanied his brother's death hadn't even set in yet when he had arrived at the bunker.

It was almost like every single protective mechanism in Sam's mind and soul had been working to keep him from breaking down in front of Crowley and Rowena- in front of Cas. Like in the back of his head, buried deep in the dusty corner of his heart, was a flicker of residual hope that maybe, _just maybe,_ Dean had somehow managed to talk Amara out of her plans without losing his life in the process. That Dean had _survived_.

He would have checked of course, if only he'd gotten the chance.

But he never got around to do it before Toni paid him her unpleasant little visit at the bunker.

And then- _boom_ \- Dean had been back again, making snarky comments like nothing ever happened.

Sam had barely been able to wrap his head around the fact that his older brother was right there, just a couple of feet from where he was sitting.

He was half-afraid to believe his own eyes- afraid that this was just another one of Toni's screwed-up mind games, another way to break down his will and make him talk.

But Dean had sounded so real, so much like himself and Sam's heart had started racing in his chest at the prospect that maybe Dean was really alive and about to get that sharp needle thing stabbed into his face just below his eye-lid.

And then, as if his mind hadn't already been hurting enough, whipped around between doubt and grief and hopefulness like a dog on a fucking leash, _Mary_ had shown up in the doorway, eyes sparking fury and blond hair fluttering as she pointed her gun straight at Toni.

"Get away from my boys."

One sentence from her mouth, just a couple of words and Sam was officially _done with the world_.

He didn't know what was happening, couldn't even formulate words around the massive lump in his throat because his Mom had been dead for over thirty years and Dean had died too, and now they were both back, trying to save him. _And please, please—don't let this be another one of her goddamn spells_ because Sam wasn't sure he would survive another one of those, especially when his mom and Dean were part of it.

His mind was racing, his heart thrumming frantically in his chest, breath whooshing and out of his lungs at a rate that would have probably worried Dean if he hadn't been busy getting his face stabbed by Toni.

Like a computer that had overheated and died, Sam's mind suddenly shut itself off and his breathing calmed down, mouth still slack in shock as he watched the scene unfold.

Whatever was going down here, he would have to process it later because right now, all he wanted to do was put the world around him on hold and catch his breath.

* * *

"Easy, I've got you," Dean murmured comfortingly as he gently lowered Sam down into one of their library chairs in the bunker.

Sam was staring up at his brother with wide eyes, fingers tingling with the urge to touch Dean's face- his chest- just to assure himself that this was real, that his big brother was really here- really _alive_.

He would have probably done so if Mary and Cas hadn't chosen that exact moment to walk up to them, Mary with a bottle of blue Gatorade and a washcloth in her hands and Cas with the usual solemn expression.

"Sam," the angel greeted in a gruff voice.

Sam swallowed because the last time he had seen Cas was right after they thought they'd lost Dean forever, right when Cas had offered his comfort and support in the aftermath of Dean's death as a gesture of friendship and solidarity.

And now here they were, with Dean hovering over Sam like he usually did when Sam was hurt and Mary looking at Sam like he was _everything_ \- like she hadn't been gone for over three decades of his life.

"Cas," his voice was raspy from all the yelling he had done in the past two days.

"Can you fix him up?" Dean intervened from the side, never patient when it came to his family being hurt. "He's got a few pretty deep cuts on his face and chest and a burn wound on his right foot. And check his head, too, will you?"

"My head's fine," Sam protested weakly, shooting Dean an affectionate glare because he could talk for himself (thank you very much) but he was also so thankful to hear Dean's voice again. And he just couldn't seem to stop staring at his mom and brother like they were going to disappear again.

"We're talking concussion, drug-induced fevers or hallucinations, actually, check him for any residual remnants of mind-altering drug abuse, will you?" Dean continued to order, voice tight with anger now that he'd found out about the extent of Sam's injuries.

Sam silently basked in his older brother's mother-henning, hearing the snappy tone in Dean's voice for the actual concern and protectiveness that it was.

Cas settled a palm over Sam's forehead.

"It won't hurt him, right?" Mary hesitantly took a step forward, shooting Cas a worried look.

And Sam felt his eyes sting at that because this was his mom- the mom he had always longed for- being worried about his wellbeing and he didn't even know what to think anymore, it was all just so much to deal with.

Dean shook his head. "It'll just feel weird for a second."

Cas pressed to fingers against Sam's forehead and Sam squeezed his eyes shut, a tidal wave of relief washing through him as a bright light flooded him from the inside, driving away the pain and the residual weariness of whatever the hell Toni had given him earlier.

He came back to reality with a gasp and a sense of liveliness he hadn't felt in days, hell, _weeks._

Dean gave him a smile and a light squeeze to the shoulder, running his eyes over every inch of Sam's body to make sure Cas hadn't missed anything.

"You good?" he asked, worry bleeding through and Sam felt so happy he could have cried.

His gaze flickered over at Mary, then at Cas and back at Dean again.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I'm good."

A few hours later, after dinner and his talk with Mary, Sam was in his room, staring at the ceiling in a mixture of incredulity and pure bliss.

There was a soft knock on his door and Sam sat up against the headboard, smiling when Dean struck his head through the doorway.

"Hey, can I—" Dean gestured vaguely around the room, asking for permission to enter and Sam rolled his eyes.

It wasn't like they had ever been particularly considerate of each other's privacy.

"Sure," Sam nearly stumbled over the word, unable to keep the enthusiasm from his voice because this was Dean and Sam had thought he was never going to see Dean again. _Ever._ And now he was here, in Sam's room and Sam could finally allow himself to feel a maddening sense of relief.

He wasn't sure when the reality of that fact alone, was going to fully catch up with him.

Dean stepped inside Sam's room, sending a cursory glance around, before sitting down at the foot of Sam's mattress and meeting his brother's eyes.

"So, I know it's a lot to take in, but…"

"Mom, huh?" Sam huffed out a nervous laugh, shaky and awkward.

Dean met his words with a soft smile. "Yeah."

"Our lives are weird," Sam continued, trying for humor because he knew his brother dealt better with things through sarcasm.

"Not gonna fight you on that one," Dean snorted, shaking his head a bit and staring off at a patch on Sam's wall like it held all the answers he was looking for.

Sam thought he was going to say more, but Dean just continued to look at the wall for a moment before his intense gaze refocused on Sam.

"So they did quite the number on you, huh? Blowtorch and all… sounds like you guys had a blast this past couple of days."

Dean's voice was dripping with guilt and self-loathing, just like Sam knew it would.

He was blaming himself for not having been there sooner. For not having been able to keep Sam from getting hurt.

Just like he always did when he wasn't around to protect his little brother.

Sam had his mouth half-opened in protest, ready to fight Dean tooth and nails on this because Dean had been off saving the goddamn _world_ \- it wasn't like he'd been sitting around, twirling his thumbs while Sam had gotten tortured.

But Dean didn't give him a chance to respond.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, thinking…" Dean swallowed and cut himself off, looking away again. "Thinking that I was..."

This was particularly hard on him because he was probably imagining what it would have been like if their situations were reversed, if Dean had been left to rot in some bunker, thinking everyone he'd ever loved in this world was dead. Thinking he was all alone on the planet.

It was Dean's worst nightmare come to life.

Sam watched his brother's face intently before moving to the edge of the mattress, long limbs unfolding until they touched the cool ground beneath.

He sat there for a moment, pretending to find the wall just as interesting as Dean, their shoulders nearly touching, the silence once again settling over them like a comfortable blanket.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

Sam took a calming breath before releasing it.

"It's okay," he said, not holding a flicker of resentment for Dean over what had happened. "I'm just glad you're still alive. I mean, I thought this was it you know, that this time… you were gone for good."

Sam felt something bubble up in his chest, a mix between a sob and hysteric laughter.

"Jesus Dean, I thought…" he shook his head, voice breaking on the words and eyes stinging with tears. "I thought I was never going to get to see you again."

Dean looked up then, eyes so green and so vibrant with emotion that it took Sam's breath away.

"It's ironic isn't it?" he snorted softly. "Here we are, finally getting the whole self-sacrifice thing right and _not_ picking one another above the greater good and it's the first goddamn time we actually get anything in return."

"You think there's a lesson somewhere in there?" Sam actually smiled at that because there was character growth and maturity in what they'd done- in learning from their past mistakes and putting the world above each other.

But it had been hard, too, letting Dean go, not knowing whether they'd ever be reunited after this.

Giving up the one thing they'd always so desperately clung to- the one thing they'd always had, no matter what: each other.

It had been harder than his jump into the cage.

Harder than everything he'd ever done before.

Ultimately it was Amara's issues with her older brother, the way she had blamed Chuck for _"Needing something that wasn't her"_ , that had shown some eerie parallels with Sam and Dean's very own brand of brotherly codependency.

Just that they'd come to accept that their bond wasn't normal- that it was extraordinary given the circumstances in which they'd grown up in; strengthened and fortified through years of companionship and mutual protectiveness.

If anything the thought of having lost Dean forever had only made driven home Sam's realization that there would never be a day in Sam's life where he would 'need' anything or anyone more than he needed his brother.

Dean was his safe haven.

His protector.

His family.

His _home_.

And that was something that would never change. Not ever.

It was as much a part of Sam as his own soul and heart.

"When the world didn't end- when that sun started shining again, rising above the rooftops…" Sam hesitated, looked down at his hands to buy himself more time. He could feel his brother's gaze on his neck, intense and heavy. "I felt like I was dying inside. I knew I had to keep going, I knew it's what you'd want for me to do, but I just—"

"Yeah, I get it."

And the thing was, Dean did.

He was probably the only person on earth who really got what Sam must have felt like in that moment because he'd been in his shoes before when Sam was in the cage and Dean thought there was no possible way to get him back.

"So the British bitch," Dean changed the topic and softly cleared his throat. "She drugged you to make you compliant? Any idea what she gave you?"

"Hallucinogenics at first," Sam admitted softly, trying not to think back to the events in that basement, to what he had seen and heard.

The image of Jess's face, torn into a grimace as she went up in flames on the ceiling was still there every time he closed his eyes and so were Dean's words, sneered in so much anger and hatred that it caused Sam to shiver.

 _It should've been you._

 _It should've been you._

 _You're a freak. You are a freak. You're a freak._

Dean locked his jaw tight enough to snap, fingers curling into fists by his side as he took in the words and the unmistakable flicker of pain that crossed Sam's features at the memory.

"What did they make you see?"

"It doesn't matter," Sam quickly brushed Dean off, not wanting for his brothers to add something new to the endless list of things Dean blamed himself for. "Just some old stuff. The classics."

"Sammy—"

"Dean, drop it," Sam pleaded softly and to his surprise, Dean let go of the issue, probably having sensed the vulnerability in Sam's tone.

"Did she do anything else? You said she used hallucinates at first. Does that mean she used other stuff on you, too?"

Damn Dean for paying so much attention to _this-_ of all the possible things, when he usually had the attention span of a four-year-old on a sugar high.

When Sam took a moment too long to come up with an excuse, Dean's expression grew grim and determined to get to the bottom of things. "Sammy. Tell me."

Sam bit his lower lip, gaze flickering up to the ceiling before it dropped back down to his lap.

He closed his eyes, letting out a humorless laugh.

"You'd think I'd moved past that stage, you know?"

"Past what stage?" Dean frowned, looking concerned. "What are you talking about?"

"The stage where I can't tell a friend from a foe," Sam snorted, disgusted with himself and feeling heat rise to his cheek as embarrassment and self-loathing burned hot in his guts. He couldn't believe he'd fallen for her stupid mind games, that he'd let himself be used that way.

That he'd once again let himself be tricked by a monster- a monster of the human variety but a monster no less.

It made him feel dirty and weak and strangely emasculated like she'd taken something from that no amount of Cas' grace or his mom's loving embraces could ever return to him. Something that wasn't hers to take, even if it had only happened in his mind- even if it hadn't been real.

"Sam," Dean's voice grew impatient. "Talk to me. What did that bitch do to you?"

"She…" Sam swallowed, tried again. "She used a spell on me. It made me believe that we… it made it look and– and _feel_ like we were—"

"Like you were what?" Dean asked and Sam wanted to throttle him for making him say it.

His lips twitched into an embarrassed little frown and he swallowed. "Like we were... intimate."

It took a moment for Dean to fully understand. No longer than a second or two for his older brother to interpret the embarrassed blush and stutter for what it really was and for reality to slam home with the force of a sledgehammer.

Then his expression turned from worried to shocked, to utterly furious in a second flat.

"That fucking bitch," he shot up from the bed and kicked the wall with his boot, hard enough to make Sam wince. "I should have ganked that prissy slut the second I—"

"Dude! Calm down," Sam hissed, gesturing for his brother to lower his voice. "You're gonna wake mom. And I'd like for this to actually stay between us."

God beware, Mary ever found out that Sam had mind-fucked (yeah, literally) his own tormentor. What was his mom supposed to think of him, then?

"Did she— did she actually make you do stuff? I mean, was it like back when Becky when she whammied you with that love potion or—"

"No, Dean," Sam got up from his bed as well, both hands raised in an appeasing manner. He had known Dean wouldn't actually take likely to what Toni had done, but he hadn't expected this level of outrage. "She didn't actually _force_ me or anything, okay? It wasn't—it wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like? Cause I know you, Sam, and I know you wouldn't have touched that British skank with a ten-foot pole unless you were drugged up to the fucking gills or under some sort of magical influence."

"Look," Sam's nostrils were flaring, his heart racing in his chest. "Whatever she did to me, it took me somewhere else, at least mentally. I didn't- I actually think I enjoyed it."

Dean's face fell at the admission and for a second, Sam actually thought his brother was blaming him for it.

That Dean would think less of him somehow, for shagging a monster of the human variety, just like he'd done with Ruby all these years ago.

But then Dean's expression changed into something soft and full of sympathy.

"Sammy… she can't just— even if you weren't actually _opposed_ to it, that doesn't mean squat, okay? That bitch screwed with your mind. Twisted up your sense of reality. If anything she _made_ you enjoy it and that just makes the whole thing worse. This isn't... she had no goddamn right to do this."

Sam nodded jerkily, lips pressed into a tight line, because, yeah… Dean was right.

Toni was beautiful and from a purely physical perspective, Sam had (obviously) had no problem sleeping with her. But sex was never _just_ physical and Sam already had enough consent issues after Gadreel and Lucifer and freaking _Becky_ , without adding even more to that list.

"Okay," Dean let out with a sigh, washing a calloused palm over his face. "Is there anything else I should know about? Anything else that bitch did to you?"

"No, that's all," Sam said, feeling drained and exhausted from his earlier admission.

Dean nodded and patted Sam's shoulder with a reassuring smile before taking a step towards the door.

"Listen, it's been a long day, you should catch some rest. Get your strength back. Tomorrow I'll fill you in on the God and Amara side of things and then we'll spend some quality Winchester family time together. Whaddaya say?"

Dean gave Sam his trademark grin, a spark of unabashed, boyish joy in his eyes that Sam hadn't seen in way too long. The smile was infectious, causing Sam's lips to tug up at the corners as well.

"Dean, wait," Sam stopped Dean in his tracks and stood there for a second, holding his older brother's expectant gaze. "For what it's worth… I'm glad that this time, we actually came out of this thing without our usual brand of emotional baggage."

Sam swallowed, voice wavering as he shuffled his feet. "This whole 'We're responsible for ending the world' circle started when mom died… then came the hunt for the Yellow Eyes and my visions, looping into your demon deal, into Lilith and Lucifer and Dick Fucking Roman, then Purgatory, the trials, the Mark of Cain- I mean, when have we ever caught a freaking break?"

Dean pursed his lips like he was actually considering it, then lifted a shoulder in a loose shrug.

"I guess never."

"Never," Sam confirmed with a sad huff of air because his last goddamn torture session hadn't even been a day ago. And that just shouldn't be a 'normal' part of your daily routine, not even when you were a hunter. "But all of it led to the release of the Darkness… and I don't know how you pulled it off- if it was the- the _Mark of Cain_ or something else, but somehow you convinced **_God's sister_** not to kill you. And she gave you mom back on top of it all. She gave us mom back, Dean."

"I know, Sammy," Dean's voice was barely above a whisper, eyes filled with emotion.

"Which means the chain is finally broken right?" Sam asked, voice hopeful and soft, like Dean was the only one who could confirm the truth of this statement to him, like he valued no one's word above his brother's- trusted no one more than he trusted Dean's.

Like Dean needed to give him this piece of mind, that yes- they had broken the Winchester curse, they had been willing to sacrifice the only thing they had EVER had- namely one another, for the greater good and now they had been rewarded with what they both had grown up without: a mother.

Dean looked at Sam without answering him.

He was quiet for so long that Sam started fidgeting a bit, the strained smile slowly slipping from his lips. "Dean? We're free now, right?"

Free to be a family.

Free to be together again.

Free to just keep hunting things, doing the family business- without having to carry the entire world's weight on their shoulders as well. Without demon deals or the freaking Apocalypse threatening to tear them apart again- without any imminent threat to the universe at all.

Instead of answering, Dean's expression softened, eyes full of warmth in that way that meant he was a bit overwhelmed himself.

He took a step forward and wrapped his strong arms around Sam's shoulders, pulling him close and gently rubbing his back.

Despite the heaviness in Sam's stomach, the dreadful certainty that for whatever reason, Mary may or may not be torn from their sides again, at some point in the future, Sam also felt relief and hopefulness in Dean's embrace.

He sank deeper into the warmth of Dean's chest, fingers curling into the soft material of Dean's flannel, taking in the scent of gun oil and curd soap and pie that was entirely his brother, appreciative of the gesture for the comfort and reassurance it was meant to be.

Because whatever was going to happen with their mother- whether she was eventually going to leave them or not- they had lost her before and they'd survive it again: as long as they had each other.

"I hope so Sammy," Dean whispered the words into Sam's hair, his touch coupled with the low rumble of his voice making the room seem warmer somehow, like their future might actually be a whole lot less bleak than their past. "I really hope so."

 **The End.**

* * *

 _As much as I loved the season premiere, the second episode was a let-down on so many levels. There was zero meaningful interaction between the brothers. I get that Mary is going to take up some of the show's focus, but cutting every single brother scene and replacing it with a mother/son scene is going to ruin SPN for me._

 _I didn't even expect a hug or anything, but a simple 'How are you, Sammy?' or 'I'm glad you're still alive, Dean' should have been in the cards at the very least. How can the writers not throw us a bone, after the hellatus AND two episodes of Sam torture? This show used to be about Sam and Dean and their awesome brotherly bond. Sometimes I wonder if the writers are even still aware of that._

 _Okay, sorry for the rant, guys. I really hope you enjoyed this piece. Please feel free to share your opinions- both on the fanfic and on the show with me in your commentaries. Reviews make my day!_


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